Winter books are full. See you in the spring. The country calls and fills the calendar of things, rest and ramblin.
My vehicle is a horse, rared and valiant. My phone a rotary with no time stamp or feeds. My lover made me salmon soup, which may take weeks to slow slurp as I please.
The woodsman keeps my ax steady. Thick burls to feed the hungry stoves. Time slips out the pipe to go dance in the city.
Leave me be in tending these wanting seeds. Leave me hot animal roaming and warming these hillsides with my heart– one thick red pulse, one deep wild growl, one steady gallop straight on as I please…